fire, meet gasoline
by fantascination
Summary: —their hearts are hunting, haunting on—::kefka/oc::::sequel to 'the tragedy, she said'::


tomorrow::kefka/oc::'cause we're like fire and gasoline, i'm no good for you, you're no good for me, but i'm gonna love you like there's no tomorrow and forget all the regrets that are bound to follow It began with the Mikura opened her eyes, still in that damp, dark cave where, she last recalled, Zidane had swept up his lovelorn princess and left her there, it was to agonizing pain and the emotionless eyes of a porcelain man."What the..." Mikura couldn't quite find words to express her emotions. What could you say, really, when you were shocked and horrified and had been dead only five seconds earlier? It was then that Mikura realized she had been aware that she was dead. And that was not possible, so she must not have been as dead as she had thought."Confused?" asked the man loftily, arrogantly. The first word that came to Mikura's mind when she looked at him was _pretty boy_; his hair, golden as the sun and dipped in purple at the ends, was perfectly shiny and straight and _God_, Mikura had the sudden urge to ruffle it with her hands and see how loud he'd scream. And- _God help me_- he was wearing _eyeliner_."You would be, too, if you'd been dead not ten seconds ago" she said coldly. He laughed- loudly, condescendingly. It grated on her nerves. "Dead? Oh, no, my dear, you were not once dead. You, ah, took a trip.""Elaborate, premium boy." He held out his hand, ignoring her slur. "Get up, child, and I'll show you."/ So that was how Mikura Tribal came to be a Chaos warrior in a war she didn't even know existed. But, Hell, Zidane was there and Kuja was there, and she'd found her reason to she was alive. And Zidane was alive. And she found dying for Kuja would not do the trick. But at that moment, Zidane was not the main thing on her mind. Nor Kuja. Nor , not twenty seconds after she had been ushered into headquarters, an overjoyed Kuja curving his arm around her waist, a most peculiar man had grinned down at her. Mikura had known, from the moment she looked at him, that there was something distinctly off about this man. Something wrong. Something screwed up. Maybe it was the clown makeup plastered on his face. Or maybe the garish colors that compromised his outfit. Or the way Kuja's lips seemed to disappear, and his free hand curled into a fist on his knee. The clown-man grinned down at her, painted lips pulling back over shinypretty white teeth."Hello, beautiful." he'd purred; his voice was so strange, raw from squealing and screaming, but in a dangerously low register. "What do they call you?""Mikura." she said without thinking, because, honestly, she was mesmerized by this insane, wild man. "And you?" He dropped gracefully to his feet from his floating position, mocking a bow, smirking up at her. "Kefka Palazzo, pleased to be of service, ma'am."Mikura grinned up at Kefka, and Kefka grinned down at Mikura, and Mikura still thinks both of them knew, in that second, that things between them would be different. Mikura heard Kuja mutter, "Oh, great," and knew that this was the beginning of something dark, something wrong, something delightfully twisted. / It was when the Brandford girl was writhing on the floor, recovering from her previous torture, that Kefka kissed had been watching Terra, savoring the sight of her whimpering and thrashing, when the clown had come up behind her- unexpectedly, as usual, making her jump- and she had felt his fingers skitter up her spine, tickle the back of her neck. She exhaled in a huff, whirling around, arms still folded."Kefka, what are you-" And then his lips had cut off the end of her sentence, rough and sucking the air out of her. His lips were demanding against hers, craving reaction, and Mikura was addicted to the edge to it, the underlying desperateness that was coursing steadily through her veins-And then he pulled away, grinning that Cheshire Cat grin at her. She exhaled sharply, because this was the turning point. The plateau to the steep climb. Briefly, morbidly, she wondered if she should consider it _the end._"That, my dear," he chuckled, "was _us_."/ When the sheets were twisted around their figures like the snares of a grapevine and sweat dripped from their skin, Mikura was only just realizing that this was something she would never make it out of chuckled, acid emerald eyes focused on her face as she tried to catch her breath."Tired already, m'dear? I'd've taken you for a more...enduring sort!"She opened her eyes and glared at the man above her, the psychotic jester she'd grown to love and hate, and, without saying a word, lunged upward, the cords in her neck standing out, and bit him on the neck. Her teeth tore into his skin, leaving a deep cresent mark, and his blood spattered on her clown let out a shriek of pain and delight, and his fingernails dug into her waist, breaking the skin and drawing some blood of her own. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!"And, as she pretended to struggle (because she wanted it, really, it was all just a show) and he ended up beating her, as usual, Mikura found she didn't want to make it out of their little tryst alive. Whether he killed her (and what a magnificent death that would be, really) or Zidane, her stupid monkey brother, killed her, or even if she ended up killing herself, it was all worth it for I die, Mikura thought as the clown's nails tore into her shoulders, let me die in the middle of


End file.
